On Balance Weighted- The Short Walk

We walk from my apartment toward the parking lot, backpack swinging to back,  stride barely striking sidewalk. I notice something feels slightly out of synch here, like a drag on timing or something like it. If my brother notices it he says nothing, though a question feels as though it permeates this walk: "Where do you want to go?" As if an instinct drives me forth, I find myself addressing this question, one not asked audibly as such, nor directed at anyone in particular, in the form of a poem.

"'Where you wanna go?'

Heard as if from all around

Yet no words spoken

A brother then chose 

For on some level he knows

Where this journey goes

He speaks of a beach

Or rocky shoreline or pier

Seen firsthand and not

He speaks of a haze

Over a wonderful date

One not forgotten

He speaks of family

One gifted and (long) toiled for

One yet incomplete

Did he speak in rhyme?

Are words spoken in meter?

Let coin flip decide

For what's on our mind

eep found by open ocean

Is separate but shared."

I feel the scene shift beneath my feet, memory of a dream sparkling dark halls, of pizza ordered by the sea. He hops onto a small rock beside the path and balances on it like a surfer, and another dream springs to mind of a carefully guided fall from stone to sand, leaving surprisingly non-geodesic proof of concept. He glances back over at me to confirm I'm keeping up and I give a subtle nod. "What is any scene seen from 50,000 feet? What use are such measurements a step outside one's dimensions known? Long drive turned short jaunt is a matter of choosing the right path, from a perspective. Having the right perspective is a matter of makeup and journey. So though tapestry turns are tough to master, running a hand over thread as you pass seems far more simple; if such an addition adds sufficient value, who's to say more must be done?"

He and I continue to walk on in silence, and I realize we have passed the parking lot and continue through my complex. Hope fills my mind that this journey might be shorter than I had anticipated, and I let my words paint the picture that textures my mind.

"Are we skipping straight to the final round?

Gopher hole egress suggests early spring

Penny was called for, this more like a pound

Penny predicted, this more like a ring

For what mark is delicate, inward turned?

Who has the purchase to strike such a place?

To be frank the camp need not be concerned

This threshold is minded on either face

Hands turn and flip, based on each point of view

Your oh so cultivated group eager

Dollar burns a hole in my pocket new

We may have won but the pay's so meager 

So come make a wager, wager with me

By final call heard, hearts tethered and free."

We get to the gate and he holds it open for me. I give him a smile and quick thank you and then see the bright red sign ahead of me. "A sign indeed." As I pass by him he says quietly "That's not the only one you'll see today." I take him at his word, and excitedly stand, though it feels like I am stomping, as he himself steps outside the complex and lets the gate close with a *CLICK*.

"The backpack feels a bit out of place now."

"But oh so nice to have, believe me."

I shrug, contents jostling. The rest of my attire is certainly destination appropriate, so I glance at him and he glances back, a silent deliberation, just off this threshold, on who will take the lead.